His Fallen Grace
by PhoneboxDetectiveKAZ-2Y5
Summary: WARNING: SPOILERS. If you don't want the end of Supernatural season eight spoiled for you, please don't read! After the angels fall, the Winchester's are left with human Castiel! Broken and devastated, how will the Winchester's fix Cas up? (This fic will contain Destiel.)
1. Chapter 1

It was beautiful.

Large, brilliantly glowing blips of light rocketing across the sky-thousands upon thousands of them.

Couples sat and admired the sight, making wishes.

Children watched the sky with excitement, calling their parents out so they may experience the event as well.

It's was breathtaking.

A marvel.

Sadly, it was not as it seemed. Those who were caused amusement by it, were blissfully unaware, under the impression that what where falling were only mere stars. They were mistaken. Had they known, had they had the tiniest idea, this miraculous night wouldn't have been joyous in the slightest.

But there they were, left in awe, blinded by the unknown. Some, however knew better. A handful. One lay in an empty field, the other two slumped against the side of a '67 Chevrolet Impala, and the other bound and cuffed to a chair in an abandoned barn. They knew what the other's didn't, and at that moment I bet they would've wish they could've been as blissfully unaware as everyone else.

They knew what was falling-what it'd bring. What fell was anything but good news. What fell was angels—locked out of Heaven by no other but one of their own, blind with revenge.

The one in the field awoke with blurry vision and an unbearable headache. He felt drained and powerless. His vision focused on the sky. Something which to others may have been a moment of breathless beauty, was to him a moment of breathless terror.

He heaved himself upright, ignoring the pleas of his aching body, getting to his feet and running to a clearing, watching the sky all the while. His head was filled with screams, that of women and men's. His blue eyes filled with disbelief. He was _tricked_. _He_ was the cause. _He_ had _broken_ Heaven. He watched as thousands fell, one's he'd called brother and sister. Once again, Castiel was the cause. He'd done it again. He'd messed it up.

"Come on, Sammy." Dean draped the arm of his broken brother around his shoulder, watching the same sky as Castiel, and the blissfully unaware. He helped Sam into the leather passenger seat and hastily made his way around the other side of the car, popping open the door and starting it up. The one bound and cuffed shouted with whatever strength he had left as he heard the engine reeve. "What…!? You gonna leave me here!?"

"Can it, Crowley. We're going on a little joy ride." Dean cut the demon's bounds, seizing his arm, and yanking him in tow. Crowley muffled many a curse words as the older Winchester gagged him, shoving him towards the trunk. As to be expected, there was no cooperation on his part.

"Be a big boy next time Crowley, and get in the friggin' trunk yourself," huffed Dean as he slammed the trunk closed, sinking into the leather seat of the Impala. He cast Sam a look. Eyes closed, he leaned on the door, looking pretty crappy.

"Sam. Hey—Sammy."

He snapped his finger next to his ear, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Sam? _Damn_ it."

He slammed a fist against the steering wheel, casting an unconscious Sam another look before pulling into reverse.

Castiel had walked for what seemed to be countless upon countless miles. He dragged his feet, the weight of not only his afflicted injuries, but his actions heavy on him. His stomach was rumbling and making odd noises, his mouth dry. His legs were weak, and his body sore from the fall. Altogether, I guess you could say Castiel felt like Hell—and he didn't look much better than he felt, either.

Soon, everything was spiraling. He hit the ground hard, the air knocked from his lungs upon impact. Everything hurt. His old wounds opened, spilling fresh blood from his body. Castiel was dying—but, he thought, perhaps it was for the best.

"_Dean_-!"

Sam shouted for his brother as he jolted upright, plastered in sweat and panting for air. Ears ringing, he tossed the blankets from himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"_Dean_!"

"Sam?!"

Dean rushed in, grasping his sibling by the shoulders. "Sam, what the _hell_…?"

The younger Winchester brushed his brother hands aside, getting to his feet.

"Whoa there, pal—!"

Dean pulled him close as he began to teeter, holding him upright.

"Sammy, you need to lay down."

"Dean, no—Listen-!"

His intensifying headache made him cringe, and he clang to Dean as he sat him down.

"Now, I'm gonna get you some aspirin, and you're gonna get some res—"

"No, _Dean_! It's _Cas_-!"

Dean's green orbs widened, and he said under his breath.

"… Cas?"

He shook Sam slightly, grasping his face between his hands.

"Sam, what about Cas!?"

"Dean—He's in trouble-!"

"Sammy? Sam! What kind of trouble!? C'mon Sam-stay with me!"

"Dean, we gotta go—"

"Whoa, tiger. I don't think so."

"Dean, what-?"

"You're not going anywhere, Sam."

"Dean—"

"Sam, _no_. I'll have Kevin look after you, I'm going it alone. Tell me where he's at."

He raced the Impala down the empty stretch of road, palms sweating. Sam, and now Cas? Dean wasn't liking the idea of playing "Nurse." But, Cas was all that was on his mind. He didn't have the time to waste on-"Son of a-!" The Impala came to a shrieking stop as Dean slammed on the brakes. He kicked the door open, jumping out and running to the front of the hood, squinting past the head lights.

"Damn it—_Cas_?!"


	2. Chapter 2

The angel turned as Dean grasped his shoulder.

"… Dean?"

"Yes, It's me, pal. I'm gonna pick you up, but you gotta help me man."

Cas merely nodded. The hunter pushed an arm under Cas's legs, and the other on his back. He gave the angel an alarmed look as he groaned in pain, writhing in his arms.

"Cas? What? _What_?"

Castiel breathed heavily through clenched teeth.

"Nothing, Dean, it's noth—"

He stopped mid-sentence, biting his lip hard as pulsing, sharp, unbearable pains from his back shot through his body. He felt nearly paralyzed.

"Damn it—Hang in there, Cas—I got you buddy—C'mon…!"

Gingerly as possible, Castiel was set into the leather passenger seat, Dean swearing under his breath all the while. He was mad. Mad at Cas, mad at Metatron, mad at the world which was always so friggin' _crummy_. Something was always wrong. Dean was just sick of It.-_sick_ and _tired_. He dangled his arm over the back of his seat as he backed up, leaving the way he came down. He gritted his teeth, the stale silence making him anxious. He cast the angel a glance. His long lashes rested on lower eyelids. He drew long, steady breaths through slightly parted lips. Castiel was asleep.

The sight made Dean's stomach turn. It would've been normal, well—if angels _slept_.

"Great. Just _great_."

Sam looked over at his brother as he kicked the bunker door open, clutching Castiel tightly in his arms, rushing down the stairs and laying him on the nearest bed.

"Sammy—Alcohol, floss, needle, pronto!"

Dean had stitched up countless wounds. Hunting wasn't any joy ride, after all. Yet, this time, something was different. Something about stichin' up Cas made Dean squeamish as _hell_. I mean, _Dean_ Winchester, _squeamish_? It never happened. Nothing really got to him—well, and what _did_, he just shoulder off and made a big joke outta it. It was just his thing. Nothing bothered Dean.

But, Cas?

This bothering Dean, _bothered_ Dean. Cas had screwed up before—Cas had screwed up before _bad_. Cas screwed up Heaven, Cas screwed up Sam, Cas screwed up Purgatory, Cas screwed up _Cas_, and then he turns around and Cas screws up Heaven again.

_Hell_—they all screwed up.

Sam freed _Lucifer_, and brought on the _freaking apocalypse_—but, hey-the kid cleaned up after himself. _Heck_, Dean wasn't any saint either. Half of Dean pitied the guy. Cas either messed up with good intentions, or Cas got taken advantage of with "good intentions". The other half was still kinda pissed off. Every time, Dean had warned Cas. He warned him not to absorb all the souls in Purgatory, he warned him not to trust Metatron.

Cas just never listened. All Cas did was follows his childish desires on a whim, not stopping to ask himself, "Am I really doing the right thing here?" He didn't doubt himself, he didn't hesitate to ask questions-he just acted, and it was always Dean was left to sweep up after him, left to grieve when Cas really did himself in. Dean couldn't trust Cas, because Cas didn't trust Dean. Not completely, at least.

If Cas truly trusted Dean, he wouldn't have stolen all the souls in Purgatory. He wouldn't have run off with the damn angel tablet. He wouldn't have teamed up with Metatron and expelled all the angels from Heaven.

Cas really was just a child-and unfortunate Dean was really just his provisional caretaker.

But don't misunderstand. Cas may've been a pain in the neck, and Dean may've been done cleaning up after him, but Dean still loved the guy-loved him like a brother. He'd die for him and he knew Cas would do the same. They, as Cas put it, had a "profound bond."

Cas rescued Dean from Hell, Cas rebelled and went as far as falling from grace to help him. Cas, years in the future in the midst of the apocalypse was even then still fighting by Dean's side. Dean sometimes wondered what made Cas stay. What was in it for him? What made Cas want to come back to Dean Winchester, 90% crap?

Why did Cas even bother? He was a friggin' angel, for Christ's sake-one of the most powerful, douchey beings Dean'd ever had the misfortune of knowing. Why would a warrior of the guy upstairs himself even give a damn?

He pondered over these thoughts as he rinsed his hands of blood, giving his face a splash of cool water before he turn the handles and shut off the faucet. That's when he heard it. A scream from the front room, and Sam's voice yelling out.

"Dean, he's up! Hurry, he's in pain-_DEAN_!"


	3. Chapter 3

Cas's cries of agony rang out through the entire bunker. It chilled Dean's blood. It made his heart freeze. Next thing he knew, he was racing downstairs. Sam was leaning over the bed as Cas writhed in pain.

It was _excruciating_.

_Unbearable_.

A pain that burned hotter than the flames of Hell.

Dean stood in the door way, helpless as Cas screamed his name, _begging_ him, _pleading_ him to make the pain stop. But Dean couldn't help. In that moment, he could do nothing. He could do nothing but watch his friend cry out for him. Watch his friend, who before was so noble and fierce, as angels should be, become broken and impaired, not only physically but mentally.

Dean couldn't do a thing. Not a _damn_ thing. Is that _all_ he could _do!?_ Just stand by and _listen_ to Cas call out to _him!? _It wasn't _fair_. Of course, Dean knew most things in life weren't. He was reminded of that every day. Every morning when he woke up, every night when he went to bed. He and Sammy stayed in cheap-ass motels, lived off of credit card fraud, survived off of fast food, were stuck in a car together practically 24/7, and had a crappy job which they never got any thanks for.

They saw people die on a weekly basis. They'd lost everything because of hunting. The Life was anything but fair, but if Dean had to ask to be cut a brake, now was the time. Right when he himself was wondering how much of Cas's screaming he could take—silence. Sam checked for a pulse, as a just-in-case.

"He just passed out, that's all…"

As Sam wiped his palms on his jeans, Dean heaved out a sigh of relief. But he could still hear the cries. His ears still rang with them, and he thought he'd never scrape the experience from his brain. He barely caught the words as they escaped Sam's lips.

"I'm going out to make a run."

Dean didn't turn his head until he heard his keys jingle.

"What?"

"I'm going out. To make a run."

He release a light scoff.

"Like hell you are. Give me the keys Sam."

Sam shoved the car keys in his jacket as Dean extended his hand, motioning for Sam to give 'em up with a few fingers.

"Sam, you're in no condition to be—"

"No, Dean. Listen."

Dean shut up, raising his eyebrows at his brother as if to say, 'Go on. I'm listening.'

"You need to stay here. With Cas."

Dean opened his mouth to say something. But… what? Hell, he couldn't argue with that, and Sam knew it. The wide smirk that grew on the younger Winchester's face made Dean want to pop him right in the jaw. With no other options left, Dean simply retorted with a, "bitch," under his breath, watching Sam's smug grin spread further.

"Jerk."

The keys jangled in Sam's pocket as he headed for the door, pausing only as he heard his brother say, "hey,' from behind him. Sam turned to look at him and he grasped the cool brass handle.

"You wreck my car, I'll kill you."

The younger flashed his brother one last grin before stepping out into the chill of the night.


End file.
